it's so self-indulgent and self-referential

Two weeks late with something I volunteered to write and forgot the books to study for my test tomorrow at school, life is going great

I love being an artist. I love looking at what I have created and admiring that it's a product of my brain, heart and soul. I love redoing something a year later, or just looking back at it and comparing it to current works, and thinking wow, I've come so far. It looks so different. I love refining this vision created in my mind, refining myself to get better at transferring it to the physical world. I love being an artist.

To my mutuals, I'm sorry if I don't interact like, at all. I don't really know how to talk to people. I want to say something to you, I want to talk to people but I don't really know what to say. I sometimes start writing something but give up halfway through. I want to talk to you. Know that I send thee my love with likes.

Brother went to the hospital because of his arm hurting to the point where he could barely hold a fork. He comes back at 10pm, I jump, go and ask him, all worried like a good older sister I hopefully am: Johnny, how is your hand, are you okay? He says: we got kebab. Your hand!!! Mixed sauce and meat. YOUR HAND JOHNY NOT THE FUCKING KEBAB I DON'T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT YOUR FUCKING KEBAB! it was good.

How I scroll and lay in bed doing nothing knowing I have two articles, two illustrations to said articles, a presentation and a math test coming up.

Doomsday prepper x survival instincts of a panda

A reminder to myself that no-one is gonna Kill Me With Hammers if I post something on my own fucking blog that I created with the intent of being posted on. That I am free to post on it without being Killed With Hammers. It's my blog. I own it. I made it. With the purpose of being posted on. I post here. There's nothing to be scared of.